


My Roommate Dark

by Vziii



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, I have a feeling I've written about Jack before, anyways this is my first time writing and publishing something darkiplier related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-06-27 08:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15681870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vziii/pseuds/Vziii
Summary: Jack regret only one thing from not listening about the woods: bring some fucking candles. If only he bothered to bring some to his cabin, dealing with an uninvited guest at his cabin would've been so much easier.





	My Roommate Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways this sparked from a Discord chat about how in-fic Dark is a jerk, and then I wrote him as a different kind of a jerk. That's it. I guess it's half-crack, half-me-practicing-expositional-writing. Hope you like it.

_Demon Damien,_  
_Demon cruel_  
_Leaves a man_  
_In black and blue._  
_If you dare_  
_Walk in the woods._  
_Pray and hope_  
_He won’t meet you._

 

Jack never believed the myth of the man in the woods before. Even as a child, hearing the rhyme about Demon Dark didn’t disturb him at all. Growing up as a young man hadn’t changed his mind about the paranormal or ghastly, to his family’s dismay, as the superstition might have been as old as his great-grandfather was.

And yes, this did mean that everyone was screaming their heads off when they heard he was going to move everything of his into the woods. Jack’s aunts wouldn’t stop begging him to forget about the cabin he was settling in. A friend even gave him a wooden cross and suggesting bringing candles during the first few weeks living in his little cabin.

In the end, he was glad he remained adamant about living in the woods. Jack’s life there has been quite lovely, within the little wooden cabin he made his own. Dewy mornings to bird chirps, walks amongst the trees with a mug of coffee in hand, and softly twinkling stars each night brought serenity to every day. The year he spent there was so close to perfect, he almost forgot that secrets can creep amongst the trees and form in the fog.

Jack regret only one thing from not listening about the woods: bring some fucking candles. He was sure someone passed him a matchbox, or maybe that one of his aunts claimed that the Scary Demon Damien was afraid of fire. If only he had gotten some candles, or started setting up a little fireplace if he was willing to go the extra meter, things would’ve been easier for the past two weeks.

All it took was a creak at the door that night for sit to go down. The clock was striking to midnight, whilst Jack was heading off to sleep. The lights were turned off and he shifted himself into his bottom bunk bed, ready for a peaceful sleep. But against his plans, the curtains fluttered with the fierce wind and the door echoed banging sounds in a slow, sneer tempo. The slams shook Jack awake, adrenaline urging the young man to prepare for a treacherous fight.

The locked doors bought him enough time to climb out of bed, feet making a soft thud upon the smooth wooden floor, supporting himself upon the balls of his feet and ready to start kicking. Reaching his hand over to the bedside table, he grabbed the lamp swiftly to use as a weapon, conveniently unplugging it and swinging the black wire into his other hand as if it was a nunchuck chain. All of Jack's limbs were tense and tough, yet cautious so as to tiptoe to the door without an utter of sound. 

The nearer Jack crept to the banging door, the more heavily his heart pumped, the more potential in his fists to punch out the intruder. One steps closer, two steps closer, and the bangs turned to thuds, increasing in agonizing intensity. Taking the lamp's plug into the hand with the lamp, Jack freed out his left hand, hesitating in extending it towards the doorknob. Even in the dim moonlight, he could see it tremble in terror.

Deep breaths, Jack closed his eyes for a moment to reflect. You can fight this guy, evil murderer or not.

But what if, a little thought floated in, what if this is the demon of the forest?

The man breathed in a little more erratically, chasing the little thought away. After all, Jack was about to prove it wrong.

Taking a heave out his mouth and all the courage he could, Jack swiftly swished his hand to the doorknob and flicked it open, letting the dark-night danger meet him face to face.  

Jack wasn’t expected to see the threat to be a man in a grey tux, holding his bleeding head with his hand and the other reaching out blindly outwards.

Normally, a demon at his doorway would mean an existential crisis while simultaneously beating the shit out of it with a lamp. But then and there, the monster seemed to be different from the frightening folktales within the family. Seeing him as a simple man instead, wounded and in need of healing…

Jack liked to think that he couldn’t help it. He liked to chalk it off as him being kind and sympathetic when he took the stranger by the hand and led him into his bathroom. The caring feeling was only fueled by every little whine the grey man made when his wound was nursed, the bandages soaked in dabs of black blood not changing how Jack pitied the stranger. The dark deity was deemed to be a helpless deer that night, nurtured and tucked deep in dreaming in the top bunk bed.

He wondered if Demon Damien still remembered that night, or if he felt gracious for Jack’s goodness. He wondered if he heard him when he admitted he had no idea the demon was even a demon when he saw him in the doorway.

Because two weeks after, the cabin curtains and wooden floorboards were scratched up by a grey-skinned man nicknamed Dark.

Demon Damien Dark was essentially a blithering bugger of a roommate. Either the myths were a lie, or that night's concussion turned a hellion of calamity into a tireless cat. Jack gave up on counting the amounts of broken mugs or scattered papers he found on the floor each morning, not even wanting to think about how long it took to clean up the bathroom almost daily. He couldn't even sit down at his computer without Dark pawing at his cheek, like a fucking cat or some shit.

And, yes, the demon was scared of fire. Of all things. Garlic? No. Holy water? No. Doubt or despair of repressed memories? No. But fire? The bitch couldn’t get close to it if he wanted to. That one night Jack set up an outdoor campfire proved that, and he was grateful to have learned that twirling a little matchstick scared the absolute shit out of Dark. 

But it wasn't as if Jack couldn't handle it. Two weeks with an immortal, half-corporeal being with grey skin couldn't have been all the time he'd have Dark around. Even now, as he lay on his narrow mattress late at night, Jack still saw his situation as surreal. Who wouldn’t be when some dude in a grey tux is bouncing on the top bunk bed right above you and making the springs in it squeak?

Plus, God knows Jack's wise enough to not provoke him into actually messing with him. His occasional yowls of boredom were scary enough as they were.

So when he felt a wad of crumpled paper hit his face from above, Jack couldn’t do anything but grumble.


End file.
